


When a heart stops beating

by ko_writes



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, CPR, Heart Attacks, Kiss of Life, M/M, No perminant character death, Sweet nicknames, prank gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Douglas was bored and a little excited at the same time. Bored of waiting for Martin to open the locker door and excited about his little… plan. Oh, Martin would be sorry for saying he was unprofessional again; even if this was more proof he wasn’t.'</p><p>Douglas plays a prank on Martin in the air, five minutes out from Fitton; with disastrous results...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Staying alive

   Douglas was bored and a little excited at the same time. Bored of waiting for Martin to open the locker door and excited about his little… plan. Oh, Martin would be sorry for saying he was unprofessional _again_ ; even if this was more proof he wasn’t.

   “Martin, do you find it cold in here?” Douglas asked nonchalantly. Here it comes!

   “A little I suppose…” Martin shrugged.

   “Could you get my coat from the locker?” Douglas asked. Don’t grin, don’t grin, don’t grin.

   Martin shrugged again and opened the locker door. This was it!

BANG! The ten party poppers (and one or two confetti cannons) were triggered by the door opening – absolutely flawless. Martin yelled out in surprise before falling to the floor, breathing heavily.

   Douglas had never laughed so hard in his life – not for a while at least. “Your-Your face!” He guffawed. He didn’t notice Martin clutching his chest and trying to breathe properly.

After a moment or two he threw a glance at Martin; still on the floor. “You can get up if you want to,” he teased. No reaction or retaliation from the captain. Odd. “You alright?”

   “N-no…” Martin gasped, breathless. Pain flared in his, too tight, chest and shooting pains up and down his left arm.

   Douglas frowned, concerned. He pressed the call button; “Arthur, Carolyn; can you come here? Something’s wrong with Martin…” He willed himself not to show his deep worry, but more concern for a close college.

   Martin was trying his best to run through his symptoms. Breathlessness, yes; chest pain/pressure, yes; anxiety, as always if not increased; shooting pains in left arm, yes; sweating, he could feel it starting; lightheaded/dizzy, only lightheaded so far (thank God); nausea, yes. He started coughing; the last text-book symptom. One conclusion; a fucking heart attack!

   “What’s wrong?” Arthur’s worried voice came through. Martin’s dear, sweet Arthur.

   “H-heart attack…” Martin gasped. Very breathless; more coughing followed.

   “What?” Douglas paled.

   “Both my parents… had heart… problems…” Martin’s words kept trailing of at the end, “Researched… sighs… have them… all…”

   “Get in here quickly,” Douglas ordered over the intercom, “Martin thinks he’s having a heart attack.”

   “ _Martin_ would,” Carolyn sighed, “It’s probably a panic attack.”

   “N-No… Shooting pain… in arms…” The world was spinning. He couldn’t black out; they needed to know his symptoms. Coughing yet again.

Douglas growled in annoyance, “I can’t do anything, I’m flying the plane! I’m sure the passengers can survive without drinks! I’ll contact ATC, we’re five minutes out; get here soon!” Douglas looked over at Martin quickly, “What are your symptoms?”

   “Breathlessness… chest pain… and pressure… anxiety… shooting pains in left arm… sweating… lightheaded... and a bit… dizzy… nausea… and coughing,” Martin gasped for breath, oxygen just wouldn’t come.

   “Certainly sounds like a heart attack…” Douglas sat-comed Fitton. “Fitton ATC, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India; request ambulance upon arrival.”

   “Nature of the emergency?” Karl asked.

   Douglas could barely keep it together, “Captain Martin Crieff is having a heart attack.”

   The line was silent for a moment. “Ambulance mobilised. Is he alright?”

   “Un-unprofessional…” Martin muttered.

   “Don’t talk,” Douglas ordered before talking to Karl again, “He thinks he’s well enough to remark on your professionalism, but he’ll be better when Carolyn and Arthur put down the drinks trolley and come here. I can’t do it, I’m flying the plane!”

   “Rodger, Golf Echo Romeo Tango India; you have priority landing.”

   “Thank you, Tower.” Carolyn and Arthur barged through the flight deck door. “Oh thank goodness. Martin _is_ having a heart attack and you need to follow my instructions.”

   “Martin!” Arthur knelt so he could cradle the pilot’s head in his lap, stroking through his hair, (it was still weird to hear him call Martin by his name) “It’s ok, it’s going to be ok,”

   “N-no, I’m… going to die,” Martin whimpered, breath getting thinner.

   “No, no, no you aren’t,” Arthur comforted.

   “Love you…” Martin gasped before the dizziness was too much and he slipped into darkness.

   “Martin? Skipper? Hummingbird?!” Hummingbird? Must be part of new-nicknames-with-aviation-and-flying-themes-every-week game. It was all so sickeningly sweet with those two.

   “He said he was dizzy Arthur. Now, listen to me. The ambulance is mobilised and will meet us there: in the meantime I need you to pull Martin up so he’s half-sitting, half-lying…” Arthur did as he was told, tears started falling down his cheek. “A little further – perfect. Carolyn, get blankets, towels, pillows, anything soft and pack them under Martin’s knees.” Carolyn went away to do what she was told – deeply worried. “Arthur, do you know how to take someone’s pulse?”

   “Y-yeah…” Arthur took Martin’s wrist. “I-it’s really wea–” Arthur gasped, “Douglas, it’s stopped!”

   “Did you see that CPR advert on the telly? By the British heart foundation?” Douglas asked, trying not to panic himself.

   “S-staying alive?”

   “Yes, that’s it Arthur; do that!”

Arthur started the chest compressions. “Come on, Martin; wake up. If you wake up, we can get married! We’ll be Mr and Mr Shappey-Crieff or… or Crieff-Shappey; whatever you want if you just wake up!”

   His captain was technically dead. “Is he breathing, Arthur?”

   “No!” Arthur panicked.

   “Right; place one hand on the forehead and using two fingers lift the chin. Pinch his nose firmly closed. Take a deep breath and seal your lips around his mouth. Blow into the mouth until the chest rises. Remove your mouth and allow the chest to fall,” Arthur did as he was told, “Repeat once more.”

“Now, thirty compressions?” Arthur asked.

   “Yes, perfect Arthur!” Douglas praised.

   “After we help Skip’s mum; mum sent me on a first aid course, but I only remember some of it. I’ll see if she’ll let me go back and take it again… I need to know how to help!” Two rescue breaths. Still no pulse. “Please, Martin. Please.”

   Start to land. Hope to God and whoever is listening that Martin doesn’t die.


	2. Clear!

   Arthur continued frantically. One minute after Martin’s heart stopped, they landed. “Come on, Martin; wake up…” Arthur cried as he continued the chest compressions. Douglas pulled away from the console as soon as he could and was at Arthur’s side. “Go away, Douglas…” he growled.

   “What?” Douglas gasped.

   “You caused this! I heard those party poppers go off!” Arthur began before another two safety breaths. The padding was now beneath Martin’s knees so he was in the correct position and Carolyn had to rush off to stop the passengers getting in the way of the paramedics. Memories of Mr Lehman leapt in their minds’ eyes.

   “Arthur – I only wanted to scare him!” Douglas defended.

   More chest compressions. “You’re smart, Douglas; think! When I’m not taking him out for dinner; he has the worst diet ever! _Both_ his parents have heart problems! He has really bad anxiety! The risks were all there!”

   “Arthur – Paramedics are coming soon!” Carolyn opened the door.

   “Please be safe, Martin… If you wake up, you can be Mr Crieff-Shappey…” Tears ran down Arthur’s face as he quickly captured Martin’s lips before the paramedics helped him up.

   Carolyn held her son as he stared at Martin; usually plump, pink lips tinged blue.

   “Get the paddles!” one of the paramedics yelled. The defibrillator was handed to her. “Charging… Clear!” When she shocked Martin’s chest, Arthur buried his face in Carolyn’s shoulder; his boyfriend’s body moving unnaturally.

   “Mum… Martin…” Arthur sobbed.

   Carolyn and Douglas were unable to look away. It was like a horror film; like Martin had become Frankenstein’s creature.

   The paramedic checked his pulse. “We have a pulse,” she smiled slightly. The rest of MJN were hopeful, “Intubate and get him on the stretcher.”

   She walked over to MJN. “Is he going to be alright?!” Arthur asked.

   “For now, he’s stable. We’ll get him to the hospital and they’ll find out his prognoses. As he was not breathing properly for over two minutes – there is a possibility of brain damage but they’ll talk you through that at the hospital…” Arthur nodded. “Do you want to go in the ambulance with your…”

   “Boyfriend,” Arthur supplied tearfully. He pulled out a velvet ring box from his pocket, “I was going to propose at the end of the flight… I knew he’d want to do it on GERTI but wouldn’t want a lot of time left on the flight…”

   If Douglas didn’t feel sick before, he did now.

The paramedic smiled at him sympathetically. “Follow me, they’re taking him now.”

   “Arthur… I’m sorry…” Douglas tried to apologise

   “Don’t apologise to me Douglas,” Arthur growled before following the paramedic.

   “What was that all about?” Carolyn questioned, her tone accusing. She spotted the confetti on the floor.

   “I only meant to scare him…” Douglas whispered.

   Carolyn stormed off to get into her car and follow the ambulance. Douglas couldn’t move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was close! Please review.


	3. You're horrible!

   Arthur and Carolyn sat in the horrible plastic seats in the waiting room. Arthur’s head rested on Carolyn’s shoulder as he quietly snored. Poor boy; so tired and scared. She was going to murder Douglas.

   Arthur startled awake. “Martin!” he yelled. He was shaking as Carolyn took him in her arms.

   “What’s wrong, Arthur?” Carolyn asked softly.

   “I dreamt Martin died…” Arthur whimpered in a small voice. Carolyn only held him tighter.

   Douglas walked gingerly into the waiting room. “Hello,” he greeted.

   “Douglas, I’ve thought about what I want to say to you now,” Arthur forced passed gritted teeth, “You are horrible.”

   That almost gave Douglas a heart attack. Arthur Shappey called him horrible. Even the likes of Gordon only got ‘alright’. He got ‘horrible’. “W-what?” he asked softly.

   “I said; you’re horrible,” Arthur growled. Carolyn had a look of pure shock on her face; whereas his was mixed with shame, sorrow and defeat.

   “W-why?” He couldn’t help but stutter – Arthur looked ready to murder him at any second.

   “You gave my boyfriend a heart attack! I was going to propose, literally, one minute later! My hand was on the announcement button! I had the ring – white gold, engraved and perfect for my beautiful hummingbird – in my hand ready! Then I heard those party poppers and that something was wrong with my soon-to-be-fiancée! Mum made me help her with the drinks trolley and said she wouldn’t let me propose if I didn’t and I come back to find him having a heart attack because of a petty, little argument! If you have to be here – sit as far away from us as you can! If Martin dies – just know that I will never, _ever_ talk to you again!”

   “What did the ring say?” Douglas asked meekly.

   “If you _have_ to know; it said ‘My dearest captain’ and had GERTI engraved next to it. On the inside – it’d be tacky on the outside…”

   Douglas knew how perfect that was. “He’ll love it…”

   “He won’t know for months. I wanted my proposal to be _perfect_ , Douglas! And that flight would have been! Who knows if I’ll even see him _alive_ again now!? He’s having _surgery_ to remove the clot and repair his blood vessels! He’s lucky it was a mild NSTEMI instead of a STEMI!” Arthur yelled.

   “What are you talking about?” Douglas asked.

   “You went to medical school! A NSTEMI, or Non-ST segment elevation myocardial infarction, is not as serious as a STEMI, or ST segment elevation myocardial infarction. He only had a few ruptured a few blood vessels; if he had a STEMI, he could have needed a transplant! You almost killed him, Douglas! You’re lucky that I’m not pressing charges; but it depends what Martin wants to do!” Arthur yelled. People were staring, judging Douglas.

   “How do you know all that?”

   “The doctor gave us some leaflets and I’ve been reading,” Arthur muttered.

   “That’s very –”

   “Go sit over there!” Arthur ordered. Douglas looked to Carolyn, who was glaring daggers at him.

   “Ok…” Douglas sighed, doing what he was told for once.

   Arthur settled back down, trying to go to sleep again as Carolyn held him. Douglas buried his face in an old magazine and tried to ignore how blurry it went. He wasn’t going to cry. It wasn’t his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Arthur... Please review.


	4. Text alert

   “What’s that, Arthur?” Carolyn asked, looking over her son’s shoulder at his phone.

   “A recipe website for meals that won’t hurt Martin’s heart. It’ll be hard to take him to restaurants because he can’t have much saturated fat or sodium, which is in salt. We won’t know what’s in restaurant food – so I’ll cook,” Arthur explained, “It seems easy enough. Low in saturated fat; contains at least four to five cups of fruits and vegetables every day; has at least two servings (3.5 ounces per serving) of fish a week; includes at least three 1-ounce servings of fibre-rich whole grains every day; low in sodium (less than 1,500 milligrams per day); contains no more than 36 ounces of sugar-sweetened beverages a week: easy. This looks nice…” Arthur showed her the recipe on his phone.

   “Spinach and tomato pasta… It certainly looks delicious…” Carolyn ignored the slight rumble of her stomach that reminded her that they hadn’t eaten anything for ten hours, “Tell you what, let’s go get some food ourselves; you must be hungry.”

   “No. I’m not hungry…” Arthur shrugged.

   “Arthur… You have to eat…” Carolyn stated, worried.

   “I’m not hungry at all, mum. I’m fine.”

   “I can pick something up and bring it back –”

   “Mum, I’m not hungry,” Arthur insisted, frowning.

   “Fine, but I’m going to get something quickly…”

   “Ok, mum. I’ll text you if Martin comes out of surgery while you’re gone.”

   Carolyn kissed Arthur’s forehead; walking towards the door. She stopped briefly at Douglas to inform him blankly; “Herc said he’ll be your co-pilot for tomorrow’s flight and whatever he can manage until Martin’s fit to fly again… If he’s fit to fly again. He said he wants to talk to you.” She walked off at that and Douglas was left with a bitter taste in his mouth.

   Douglas checked his phone. Oh dear. _Douglas, you are a fucking dead man!_ – That was Herc! Herc _never_ swore in texts. He really was a dead man.

   More messages – from various members of the ground crew. The mildest was from Jennie, a mild mannered receptionist; _DOUGLAS, HOW COULD YOU!?! :((_. And the one with the most expletives and threats was from Dirk and too vile to even be repeated in his head. The paragraph about grinding his internal organs in to dog meat was a bit frightening; but he was beginning to believe he deserved it. Was he even going to make it back in one piece tomorrow? Probably not.

   Carolyn came back – salad baguette in hand – just in time, as a doctor entered the room. “Uh… Arthur Shappey?”

   Arthur leapt up like a shot. “Is he ok?”

   “Mr Crieff –”

   “Call him Captain Crieff. He’s a captain,” Arthur corrected. The doctor obviously saw his worry.

   “Captain Crieff has just come out of surgery, but we’re going to let him sleep for a little while because it will be quite painful…”

   “Can I see him?” Arthur asked anxiously.

   “Of course, follow me,” the doctor instructed, holding the door for him.

   “Come on, mum…” He led Carolyn through but as soon as Douglas began walking through the door – “No.”

   “What –?”

   “You aren’t seeing Skip! I don’t care how sorry you are – you aren’t going anywhere near him _at least_ until he wakes up!” Arthur ordered. Douglas wondered since when Arthur had become so protective and forceful.

   Douglas nodded silently and began walking to his car. He may as well try and sleep for the flight – and inevitable beating he’d receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe Arthur wanted to make Martin: http://www.webmd.com/food-recipes/spinach-tomato-pasta-recipe
> 
> If you want anymore information for aftercare after a heart attack, follow this link: http://www.webmd.com/heart-disease/guide/what-to-do-after-a-heart-attack
> 
> Please review.


	5. Dan-Yr-Ogof

   Arthur walked gingerly into Martin’s hospital room; it was terrifying. He had so many tubes and wires attached to him. Cardiac monitoring electrodes; a Blood Pressure Monitoring tube in his wrist; A Foley Catheter; Chest Draining tubes; Pacemaker Wires; and ventilator. Martin, his Martin, looked so small.

   “Oh my God…” Carolyn gasped, walking in behind him. She gripped her son’s shoulder as tears trailed down his face.

   “Skip…”

   “It’s alright Arthur,” Carolyn tried to comfort while trying to convince herself; “He’ll be fine.”

   “I hate Douglas…” Arthur muttered.

   “From what I gather from texts from a few of the ground crew, you aren’t the only one…”

   “Yeah…” Arthur sighed, “Dirk won’t be happy, he likes Martin. They all do, secretly; but Dirk would be the one I’d call a friend of Martin’s. I was thinking of inviting him to the wedding…”

   “Who was on your guest list so far?” Carolyn asked; hoping to distract her son.

   “You, of course; not dad, he’ll ruin everything; I don’t know about Simon and Caitlin, it would have to be up to Martin, but I’m sure his mum would come, though; Dirk and a few others we’re close to; possibly the other Martin… But not Douglas. Not after this.”

   “Have you thought about anything else?”

   “I’ll have to rethink the cake. I was thinking it could be a Victoria sponge with a lemon twist – You know; the travelling lemon? I thought I’d be funny… But I don’t know what cake we can have now…”

   “Do you want to have the service in a church, or somewhere else?” Carolyn asked to distract Arthur.

   “There are these really beautiful caves in Wales where you can get married. We’ve been there before – Dan-Yr-Ogof, remember? There’s this waterfall as you walk in and the walls are shiny and almost glittery with limestone. I think Skip would like it…”

   “I remember. I think Martin would like that; I don’t know, though. You’d have to ask him. You could always get married on GERTI…”

   “That would be nice too…” Arthur smiled.

   “He’ll say yes, you know.”

   “I’m just hoping he’ll get the chance to say yes or no…” Arthur sat at Martin’s bedside and gently took his hand, “Hey Skip, it’s me; Bumblebee. Please wake up soon; yeah? I love you…”

   It was all Carolyn could do not to cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review. Where do you think the wedding will be held (if there is a wedding...)
> 
> Here are some pictures of the Dan-Yr-Ogof wedding venue: https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=Dan+yr+ogof+caves+wedding&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=lt9jVLvpKLGv7Aa2goDICw&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=L7EI5t3VBBv_mM%253A%3BgDZaEt4nDEcJRM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fmedia-cdn.tripadvisor.com%252Fmedia%252Fphoto-s%252F02%252F1f%252F3a%252F86%252Fdan-yr-ogof-caves.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.tripadvisor.co.uk%252FAttraction_Review-g3845704-d243020-Reviews-The_National_Showcaves_Centre_for_Wales-Pen_y_cae_Powys_Wales.html%3B550%3B365


	6. How close it came

   Hours seemed to last days. The doctor had been by to remove the tube in Martin’s Trachea; so Arthur was given the small hope that his boyfriend – fiancée soon, they both had that to look forward to – was getting better.

   While Carolyn slept uneasily in one of the chairs; Arthur sat dutifully alert and awake at Martin’s bedside, like the perfect boyfriend he tried so desperately to be; Martin told him he was and he shouldn’t stress so much, then he laughed at the hypocrisy of it all. They cuddled that night, in that room in Barbados that was actually quite nice. They did other stuff too, of course; but that was private.

   Arthur could feel sleep starting to try to drag him under when he heard a soft groan from his boyfriend and his eyes fluttered open. Martin tried not to let out the pained whimper – but it forced its way past his lips. It broke Arthur’s battered heart.

   “Martin! How are you? Sorry, I know you’re not feeling very well. Missed you,” Arthur’s smile was wobbly.

   “Hi Bumblebee,” Martin rasped, but there was still a small smile on his face, “Yeah, not feeling great. What happened?”

   “Just… Don’t be scared. You’re alright…” Arthur soothed.

   “Arthur, _you’re_ the one scaring me at the moment…”

   “Just… You had a heart attack after Douglas pranked you…” Arthur’s eyes filled with tears.

   “I… I think I remember the party poppers going off… It scared the life out of me, I tell –”

   Arthur interrupted Martin with a choked sob and encasing Martin in a bone-crushing hug. “Please don’t say that, Martin…”

   “What? Arthur, you’re scaring me. What happened?” The beeping machines pick up pace.

   “Martin, sweetie; please. It’s ok now, it’s ok, it’s ok…” Arthur kept running his free hand through the captain’s hair, a gesture they both found soothing. The beeping eventually slowed. “I need you to stay calm, ok? I need you to do that because you’re still recovering…”

   “Ok, Bumblebee; I’ll do my best…” Martin smiled frailly.

   “They…” Arthur choked on a sob, “They had to restart your heart…” Arthur held Martin, if possible, even tighter.

   Martin did his best to stay calm, taking deep breaths, but the beeping quickened. “I-it’s a-alright A-Arthur… I-I’m O-ok…”

   “I… I know. I just… I was so scared, hummingbird. Douglas couldn’t do anything, so I…” Arthur made a small, strangled noise, “I had to give you chest compressions and rescue breaths…”

   Martin’s eyes were leaking. Is that how close it came? His beloved steward having to pull him back from the brink of death?

   They held each other for a while before they finally felt strong enough to let go.

…

   Carolyn woke up a short while later to find her son and possible-future-son-in-law eating an early breakfast. “Martin! You’re awake! How are you feeling?!” She asked as she rushed to his bedside.

   “A little better, but my chest is still burning…” Martin answered simply.

   “Has Arthur explained what happened?” Carolyn asked, hoping her son had informed Martin of his death – even if it was only, technically, a few minutes.

   “Yes, he has. But I knew it was fine when I woke up and wasn’t surrounded by otters,” Martin attempted to joke, but it fell flat. “Sorry.”

   “Don’t apologise Martin; you’re only trying to make it easier,” Carolyn dismissed, “If you two are eating, I might as well. See you in a minute.”

   She exited the room. She took a shaky breath. Her thoughts only stayed long enough for them to be slightly coherent. How close it had come. Douglas’ fault. Could have died. Arthur couldn’t live without him. Would he have been strong or would he have followed Martin; the Juliet to Martin’s Romeo? The last thought scared her. Would Arthur –? No. No. This was Arthur… Martin’s Bumblebee. Arthur gave his heart to her pilot. What would have happened? The thought made her sick.

   How close it had come. His hummingbird ate his special food contentedly; glad it was substantial because Arthur had had to miss their date that week, to pick up the ring; toast and pot noodles only went so far. What if Martin had died not knowing how he felt? Feeling rejected and unloved? He knew Martin wouldn’t feel that but… He just couldn’t help that worry. What would he have done if Martin died? Permanently, that is. Would he have followed his captain? Those thoughts scared him. What could have happened?

   How close it had come. His Bumblebee was scared. His Bumblebee had to bring him back to life. What if he had died? Arthur would have been heartbroken. Douglas would be arrested, surely. What if Arthur had gotten ideas from watching Romeo and Juliet with him –?! No, give his boyfriend some credit. Arthur wasn’t a child and wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t. Would he? He abandoned that disturbing train of thought for another. He would have died with no will. He decided to make one as soon as possible. He needed to know everything would be taken care of. And, maybe, life insurance. No. He couldn’t qualify now, surely; even if he did have money to pay into it. He just wanted to know that, if he did die, the people he loved would have _something_. Think about that later. He needed to get better.

…

   Douglas stared at his cold slice of toast, lost in thought.

   How close it had come. What if Martin died? Arthur would follow, Douglas knew he would. Two deaths because of him. Carolyn would have strangled him or something; committed murder – his murder – in some way or another. She would be arrested and imprisoned. Three deaths and a ruined life, all his fault. Prison wasn’t a place for an older lady – something could have happened to Carolyn. Four deaths – the whole of MJN – and it would have been his fault. A dramatic way for MJN to go, though; like a Greek tragedy, everyone dead or dying at the end. All his fault. The Talisker whiskey on the mantelpiece had never looked so good…

   Douglas shook his head – hard – to rid himself of these thoughts. Nine years. Nine years.

He grabbed his bag and ran out of the door. Get to the airfield, stay away from the bar, and he’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurt to write. I don't know why. Please review.


	7. There's blood on thy face.

   Douglas stayed in his Lexus for a while. How was he going to make it through the day in one piece? Did he want to stay in one piece?

   He got out of the car and almost ran to the portacabin. Dirk and the rest of the ground were going to tear him apart; they were all rather fond of Martin and Arthur. Arthur was a bright beacon of optimism and hope; Martin helped Arthur show a side of himself that had gone undiscovered for so long – the wisdom, the maturity. Everyone at the airfield had named them Fitton’s best couple at the Christmas party not so long ago.

   And now, he had given Martin a heart attack. The ground crew were all spectators as Martin’s pale, lifeless body was carried out of GERTI and Arthur following closely behind, tears running down his face. Douglas had seen it out of the window.

   He walked – fuck it – he _ran_ through the door to the portacabin and closed it firmly… very firmly. He pressed his back against it while he tried to catch his breath; sprinting, panic and adrenaline were heartless bitches.

   After a few seconds, there was a firm pressure – about as firm as he had closed the door – at his neck. It was an arm. “Listen to me, Douglas,” the owner of the arm – Hercules – growled. Ah. This was going to hurt. “Arthur is like a son to me! And Martin’s a very decent chap! I’ve never seen _either_ of them that happy – _truly happy_ – before, especially Martin! And you kill him!”

   “He’s alive! And I didn’t mean to!”

   “He’s only alive because of modern medicine and it doesn’t matter if you meant to or not! Because you _did_! And in the air, too! What if Martin needed to open that door to get something while he was in control?!”

   “This is _Martin_ we’re talking about…”

   “No jokes, Douglas! I’m serious! You could have _killed_ an entire _twenty_ people because Martin called you unprofessional! Which you are! You walk all over regulations and do things like _that_! It wasn’t Martin’s fault! He was doing his damn job Douglas, not that you’d know what that means!”

   “I only meant to scare him…”

   That was when Herc – Hercules Shipwright, the docile lover of Carolyn Knapp-Shappey – gave him a black eye and split lip.

   “You should consider yourself lucky that it’s a long cargo flight today and, however loath I am to admit it, I need you in one piece,” Herc began, calm-ish persona back in place (the punching must have done him some good), but his voice wasn’t quite warm syrup quality. Not like it usually was. “Let’s just fly some bloody plane…”

   Douglas didn’t know if Herc knew Martin said that – without the “just” and the “bloody” – if he did, he used it like a knife to twist even more guilt into Douglas’ gut.

…

   The silence of the flight was deafening. Luckily, Jennie had been recruited to bring them their meals and coffee so Arthur and Carolyn didn’t have to leave Martin’s bedside. She pressed the soup hard into Douglas’ hands so it spilled over the sides of the bowl and burned Douglas’ hand. “Oh, _sorry_ , Douglas,” she mocked, “Did that _hurt_ , was it _unprofessional_?” Douglas mumbled something as she tensely stormed off.

   They landed hours later, in the evening. This time, Douglas couldn’t escape the ground crew. They had dragged him to a discrete place and kept beating him and kicking him and every now and again they would set off party poppers, which scared him and they had hatred on their faces.

   When they were gone, Douglas noticed his head was bleeding and his thoughts were fuzzy. Probably a concussion. He didn’t care. He’d drive home. He just didn’t care.

   He stumbled to his Lexus on shaking legs and drove away.

…

   Douglas staggered through his front door. The pain he could deal with; but the _guilt_ , the bone crushing, agonising, torturing, nauseating _guilt_.

   The Talisker whispered to him as a siren would when he took its cold, slim body in his hand; caressing it, cherishing it.

   _Cold. Slim. Like Martin’s dead body._

   He shook his head of the thought and concentrated on the feel of it. It was almost like winding down the soft silk stocking of a beautiful lady with golden hair and dark, demonic eyes that just read _seduce me_ as she sprawled on silk bedclothes.

_What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,_

_Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,_

_Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,_

_Still losing when I saw myself to win!_

   Shakespeare’s Sonnet CXIX still echoed in his mind as he unscrewed the cap of his golden temptress; it felt almost as if undressing that beautiful siren.

   He pressed it to his lips, bestowing kisses on the sirens shins and thighs as she smiled smugly, reclining against the bed’s headboard as he _worshiped_ her. Golden liquid flowed into his mouth, coating his tongue and burning his throat, like a deep, hungry kiss. She whispered _take me_ and he wanted more.

   His head was dulling; the pain, the guilt and the _thoughts_ were dulling. The siren had him, seduced him. Then, taking the bottle from his lips, he saw her; draped over the sofa. Hair that should be golden was dark as a raven’s feathers at midnight with curls falling around her cheeks like satin sheets spilling off the corner of the bed decadently, messily betraying tales of the night before. Her face was slim and beautiful. Her eyes dark and empty despite the lust therein, but it was empty lust.

   “Come to me…” She beckoned, standing slowly, gracefully, her lingerie hugged her hips as she moved, silken black stockings and lace garters showing her off. He stepped towards her.

   She looked up at him with empty eyes as she pressed her body against his softly, despite her clothing choice, it was still innocent. Tender, loving. Surely.

   She brushed his tie with her long, delicate fingers before winding them around it and guiding him to her lips. That blissful burning in the back of his throat.

   She led him to the sofa and sat him down. She draped into his lap, like silk. That’s when Douglas saw it. Her clothes had changed. She was wearing light blue pyjama bottoms decorated with polar bears and a man’s aeroplane t-shirt. Douglas froze; stiff as a board. What she said next would chill him to the bone permanently and stay with him forever. Her voice was child-like and jovial but worried at the same time; “what’s wrong, Skipper?”

   Douglas’ eyes widened as he stared into hers. They had changed too. They were filled with curiosity and they were brown – Arthur’s eyes.

   He stood up quickly, terrified. The siren didn’t fall; she just vanished into the air like vapour.

   He felt a heavy weight on his head, reached up and touched what felt like the brim of his pilot’s hat but… gold braid.

   He turned to the mirror. He was thin – obscenely so – with ginger hair and freckles and bloody cheekbones! Martin! He was Martin! Hunger stabbed at his gut and sorrow – no, more than sorrow – stabbed at his heart. It brought tears to his eyes. No. Martin had Arthur! He was happy!

   The siren draped her arms around him and the sorrow disappeared but the hunger was still a dull ache. “You make me happy, Bumblebee.” The words that tumbled from his mouth weren’t his. His voice was higher; it was almost identical to Martin’s.

   Douglas felt the weight disappear as he saw a hunched figure at his desk, technically facing him but the head was down. It was a man, a man with ginger hair. A sick feeling of dread settled like a stone in his chest.

_Hell is empty and all the devils are here._

   The figure jerked its head up jerkily and stared with dead eyes at Douglas. It was Martin. No shirt to show the damage.

   The apparition’s chest had dark, rotting burns seared into the pasty white flesh. There was blood, a lot of blood, from an opening in his side. The opening showed the charred gore inside, the broken ribs. _Internal Cardiac Massage_. A very last resort.

   Martin, despite being dead and rotting, stared accusingly at him. “Beautiful service,” Douglas heard from the side, “he’d have been honoured…” Carolyn. Carolyn, Arthur, Herc, Simon, Caitlin and Wendy were all standing in his living room.

   Arthur stared sadly at the gravestone of ominous black marble with the engraving ‘Martin Crieff. May now, at last, his soul fly where pain and sorrow cannot follow’. Arthur placed a stone at its foot. “At least you can still have the ring, Martin; even if I couldn’t propose. I hope the Otters take care of you…”

   Douglas stood by their side. Martin sat on top of the gravestone; jerky, uncoordinated movements, like he was a marionette on strings, Martin pointed an accusing finger at Douglas.

   Douglas found himself only able to answer with; “Which of you have done this?!”

   “What, Douglas?” Carolyn frowned. They all looked at him with such distaste.

   “Thou canst not say I did it: never shake thy gory locks at me!” Douglas yelled, staggering backwards.

   “Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well,” Herc spat.

   Arthur sighed. “Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, and hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep seat; the fit is momentary; upon a thought he will again be well. If much you note him, you shall offend him and extend his passion: regard him not.” Arthur instructed before he grabbed Douglas by the arm and muttered darkly, “Are you a man?”

   “Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that which might appal the devil!” Douglas answered in a fit.

   “Why do you make such faces? When all's done, you look but on a grave,” Arthur growled.

   Douglas could see him! He could see it! He turned sharply to Arthur in a fever, “Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo!” Douglas turned back to the grave to see no sign of Martin. “If I stand here, I saw him.”

   “Fie, for shame!” Arthur exclaimed, pushing him back.

   Douglas looked at the boy for a long while before turning back to the grave, and Martin sitting on it yet again. “Avaunt! And quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with!”

   “You have displaced the mourning, with most admired disorder,” Arthur growled at him.

   “Can such things be, and overcome us like a summer's cloud, without our special wonder? You make me strange even to the disposition that I owe, when now I think you can behold such sights, and keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, when mine is blanched with fear,” Douglas questioned frantically.

   “What sights, Douglas?” Herc huffed.

   Douglas couldn’t answer, the words dried on his tongue along with the whiskey. He looked up and they were gone. He was in a padded cell. Martin, dead and uncoordinated and still bloody jerking smirked at him and mocked, “Good night; and better health attend his majesty,” Before dissipating.

   Douglas felt something warm and sticky on his hands. He stared. They were red with blood. Martin’s blood. He began to scrub them. “Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One: two: why, then, 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky! Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?!”

   He kept rubbing until his hands stung and peeled.

   The siren, still in polar bear pyjamas smiled an unnerving smile at him from the corner of the room. “Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill shall come against him,” She drawled sarcastically.

   She burst into unkind laughter as Douglas slipped into the black enigma of unconsciousness.

_My words fly up,_

_My thoughts remain below:_

_Words without thoughts_

_Never to heaven go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Shakespeare. I have my own little headcannon in this fic; Martin and Arthur love to snuggle up in bed watching Romeo and Juliet on DVD (starring Leonardo DiCaprio - not that it matters), where as Douglas sees Shakespeare plays whenever he can and knows a lot of quotes and sonnets off by heart. 
> 
> I'm glad I found Sonnet CXIX; I had no prior knowledge of it but was searching quotes featuring sirens by the beloved bard. I think it fits Douglas pretty well...
> 
> Please review.


	8. Hair Brushing

   Martin woke the next morning with his head on Arthur's chest, their legs intertwined and the steward's large, warm hand on his chest, just above his heart; it was a miracle they had both been able to fit in the small hospital bed together. Arthur was sleeping soundly beneath him so, rather than wake the brunet, Martin just nestled further into his soft chest.

   It was a rough time for all. His mother was worried sick; his siblings concerned; his nieces and nephews not fully understanding of his situation, but making glittery get well soon cards with aeroplane stickers, because they know their uncle Martin loves them; Herc was nervous, if his visit yesterday was anything to go by; Carolyn was going to do the best she could to keep the business going with only one full-time pilot; Arthur was scared; and Douglas... had yet to visit.

   Douglas must be avoiding him in case he would start lecturing on regs and safety! How childish. Yes he was going to lecture the other pilot, but it was only fair!

   He realised Arthur had stirred when another hand, the one not on his chest, began to card through his curls. "Morning," Arthur sighed sleepily and contorted to kiss his hair.

   Over the course of their relationship, Martin had found out just how bendy the steward could be - oh, no, not like that! As in, however they were positioned, Arthur could always twist and bend to give him a kiss without disturbing him. Little did he know, Arthur had secretly been taking yoga classes to make himself even more flexible.

   "Good morning, bumblebee," he smiled, turning to gaze up at his boyfriend. Arthur had to laugh, Martin had brilliant bedhead curls sticking up in all directions; it was just so adorable. "What?" Martin inquired.

   "Bedhead," Arthur chuckled, ruffling Martin's curls into an even more dishevelled mess.

   "Hey!" The captain giggled frailly, still feeling a bit weak.

   "Sorry hummingbird, but you know how adorable I find it when your curls are all messy," Arthur teased slightly.

   "Can you pass me the brush?" Martin asked, gesturing to the small black hairbrush on the cabinet next to him.

   "Aw, but you look so cute, Skip," Arthur pouted, drawing him, gently, even closer.

   "Your mum could be here any minute and if she saw me with bed hair, I'd never live it down," Martin reasoned.

   "Oh, so _that's_ why you didn't like to share with mum or..." Arthur's mood sobered, had been jokey and high spirited - well, Arthur-spirited - a moment ago, "Douglas."

   "Arthur?"

   "Nothing, Skip," Arthur waved away.

   He helped Martin to sit up and positioned himself so he had Martin sitting comfortably between his legs, making sure not to snag the wires or tubes still attached to his hummingbird. He picked up the brush and stroked it through Martin's hair. "What are you doing?" Martin asked.

   "Brushing your hair," The steward hummed.

   "I can do it myself," the ginger stated, but made no move to take the brush.

   "Yeah, but I don't want you to pull your stitches and you can only just get through your tangles on a good day. Plus, I love your hair and want to brush it," Arthur punctuated his argument with a kiss on Martin's bare, freckled shoulder where the hospital gown had fallen slightly.

   After a minute or two (or five, or ten), Martin's hair was back to looking relatively tamed. 

   "Thank you," Martin smiled, feeling slightly better now that his hair wasn't in knots.

   "Your welcome, Skip," Arthur chirped, looking a bit more like his normal self. 

   "Douglas would have had material for weeks if he'd seen me like that," Martin chuckled, but he noticed Arthur tense at Douglas' name... almost like he did at Gordon's, but it had a sharpness to it, akin to a knife's edge. "Arthur?"

   "What, Skip?" Arthur's voice was uncharacteristically tight and clipped.

   "Are you... alright?"

   "Yes Skip, I just don't know why you mentioned _him_. He gave you a heart attack..."

   "Arthur... That was an accident..."

   At that moment, there was a knock on the door; it was Carolyn. "Arthur, Martin; Douglas has been admitted here too..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here you are, a chapter! I'm sorry if you'd given up on me, but I haven't given up on you!

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! How do you think Martin, Arthur and Carolyn are going to act towards Douglas? He did give Martin a heart attack, after all.


End file.
